Twin Cores
by PitFTW
Summary: The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Jones, just as we choose our destinies. Keep that in mind as you grow at Hogwarts and please remember to never stick your wand in your back pocket.


Twin Cores

**A/N: Excuse me, but I seem to have caught a terrible case of Pottertalia. Symptoms of this disease include: the need to write fanfics in the Pottertalia universe, the obsessive searching up of Pottertalia fan works, the intense necessity of placing the pairing known commonly as USUK, but can also be called JoKer or Libertea, in this universe, and the consumption of copious amounts of hot chocolate for inspiration. ****Causes of this disease include reading incredible Pottertalia fan fiction, writing your own Pottertalia fan fiction based on one of said incredible fan fictions, watching an insane amount of Harry Potter and Hetalia, and being given a Pottertalia plush doll set in celebration of absolutely nothing.**

**There is no known cure.**

**Summary: The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Jones, just as we choose our destinies. Keep that in mind as you grow at Hogwarts and please remember to never stick your wand in your back pocket.**

**Pairings: Implied USUK (GASP!) **

* * *

Diagon Alley was busy as usual, with all the hustle and bustle of wizarding daily lives. It was a lively day, with merchants happily running their mouths off about their wares and colorful instruments lining the windows of every shop. Wizards happily boasted of their skill in magic and Quidditch while witches haggled and gossiped with glee. All in all, Diagon Alley was a happy place, and the perfect way to introduce a young boy to the wizarding world of England.

His name was Alfred F. Jones, who had flown all the way from the United States of America immediately upon receiving his acceptance letter into the prestigious wizarding institution Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His parents were nothing short of proud when the found out the news and had booked the flight within seconds of reading what materials were required for First Years at the school. They showered Alfred with kisses and pride, as well as expressed their hopes that when Alfred's nine-year-old brother, Matthew, reached his eleventh year, that he would be able to come to Hogwarts as well.

Young Jones was wandering the streets at this time, his parents having taken his brother down to Flourish and Blott's to buy the books the young wizard needed for his fist exciting year. Alfred had wrinkled his nose when he first saw the list of books; he never knew that magic required so much reading! But alas, if he was to keep up with his classes, he would have to concentrate less on dreaming of flying about on a broomstick and more on researching the proper ways to cast spells and make potions and all of that ridiculous hogwash that came with being fired with magical powers that could potentially uproot the muggle world and destroy life as those poor non-magical folk knew it.

But you know, that is definitely not going to happen as far as Alfred F. Jones' story is concerned.

His father had given him twenty galleons and sent him off down Diagon Alley in order to purchase the most important item on the list: a wand. The man had, in Alfred's opinion, nearly made Alfred's ears fall off with the amount of advice he attempted to give Alfred about getting a wand. Alfred could only vaguely remember something about making sure that the wand didn't burn his buttocks off at this point. Really, he was here to buy his magical stick of doom, not to hear a lecture about which sticks were the best and which sticks were more likely to burn his buttocks off.

He came upon a small shop on the South Side of Diagon Alley, quite hidden away from the hustle and bustle of the shops surrounding it. Alfred gazed upon it with some doubt; there were plenty American wand makers back home, but it seemed that the only two wand makers here in Great Britain were Ollivander and Gregorovitch. Only wanting the best for their son, Alfred's parents had researched quite a lot into the two makers (and by that, I mean they read a bunch of reviews on the Wizarding Wide Web), and had decided that Ollivanders was the way to go.

So this is where we find our hero now, entering this dingy little shop that claimed it had housed "Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.". That wasn't to say that Alfred was disappointed in his parents' choice of wand maker- after all, it was said that Ollivander made the best in the world- but he was left more than a little bit dubious, to say the least. What was the big difference between English wands and American wands anyways? The fact that one could summon hamburgers while the other only summoned scones?

A man shuffled out from the very back of the shop as soon as the tiny bell suspended over the door tinkled, signaling Alfred's entrance. The store was dark dusty, the strong stench of musk in the air. Alfred removed his glasses and cleaned them on his newly bought robes, not wishing to stumble about blinded by the thick layer of dusk caking a majority of the items in the room. After all, it would not make a very good first impression if he ended up running into one of the piled high boxes of wands and knocked them all over now would it?

The man that emerged from the back was ancient, and quite small. His snow-colored hair was, quite simply, everywhere, as if he head not seen a comb in his lifetime. He wore a simple robe of black, which hid his no-doubt skeletal frame. Numerous wrinkles adorned his thin face, but a pair of light silver eyes sparkled humorously at the eleven-year-old before him. The small, wrinkled mouth turned up into a gentle smile.

"Welcome," he said. His voice was light, airy, and seemed to whisper from a time long passed. "Welcome to Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since 382 B.C. I am Mr. Ollivander."

Alfred grinned. "Well hiya! My name is-"

"Alfred F. Jones, eldest son of the Jones-Williams household and first generation wizard about to attend his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Ollivander interrupted with a gentle smile. "Yes, I was wondering when I would have you in my shop."

Okay… this guy was creepy.

"Well… yeah, I'm here for an awesome wand," Alfred said, proudly puffing up his chest. "Heroes and great Quidditch players need wands, ya know!"

Ollivander chuckled. "Of course, of course. Now, wait here while I do a few measurements, then pick out your wand… or should I say, see if I can find the wand that will pick out you."

A measurement tape with silver markings came out at this point, proceeding to measure Alfred in ways he never thought imaginable. Sure, there were the typical measurements, like down his right arm and from shoulder to floor. But then there were some weird ones: around his head, knee to armpit, and between his nostrils. All the while, Mr. Ollivander was talking and browsing the shelves of his store.

"No two Ollivanders wands are the same. I am proud to say that we use only the three Supreme Cores: unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring. Now, here, try this one. Holly and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches. Nice and supple."

Alfred took the offered wand in his hand and waved it about, feeling rather foolish when nothing happened at first. Then, out of nowhere, a vase of flowers exploded, completely drenching the table it once stood on and the floor underneath. Alfred jumped, dropping the wand, which rolled off to some unknown destination. Rather than getting angry, however, Ollivander merely nodded and walked to the back of the shop, emerging with a new wand box.

"Acacia and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches," Ollivander stated as he pressed the wand into Alfred's hand. "Fairly bendy."

Once again, Alfred waved the wand in his hand, and once again, disaster followed. This time, the spindly chair at the front of the shop caught fire, burning it to cinders before Ollivander put it out with a wave and a jet of water from his own wand. Feeling slightly upset, Alfred placed the new wand on the desk and waited for the next one to test.

He didn't wait long. "Sycamore and phoenix feather, twelve inches. Rather hard."

This time, Alfred's wand wave sent the one on the desk flying through the window. It hit a passerby wizard. Torn between wishing to apologize to the poor man and wanting to just freaking get his wand and get out of this stupid shop, Alfred handed the wand back to Ollivander, who immediately traded it for a light-colored one.

"Alder and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Quite flexible."

Alfred twirled it over his head, only to be showered by bits of falling wood as he blasted a hole in the ceiling. Ollivander clicked his tongue, mended the hole with a wave of his wand, and tossed the dud over his shoulder. Despite Alfred's many failures, Ollivander seemed to be having the time of his life.

"I haven't had a customer quite as tricky as you since that boy who bought the holly wand all those years ago," Ollivander mused as he climbed a ladder and threw yet another wand down to Alfred. "Poplar and unicorn hair, twelve and a half inches, slightly yielding."

This wand simply did not work period. Ollivander chuckled and took it away from Alfred's small hands, rubbing his chin. It was obvious that the old man, with all of his many wand boxes, was quite enjoying the puzzle Alfred presented to him. Alfred, on the other hand, just wanted to get away from this creepy shop and this creepy old man as soon as possible.

"I do wonder…" Ollivander said serenely, a gentle veil of reminiscence falling over his face as he walked to the back of the shop. Alfred stood there, fidgeting, unsure if he should follow or not. After a few minutes of shuffling and muttering, Ollivander emerged, carrying a long and dusty box in his hands. He smiled at Alfred as he placed the box on the desk and opened it.

"Oak and unicorn tail hair," Ollivander said quietly, pulling a dark brown wand out of the box and placing it in Alfred's small hands. "Thirteen inches. Slightly springy."

The moment Alfred's fingers curled around the handle, he felt something that could only be compared to the wind rushing through his veins. Suddenly, he felt a strange connection with the wand in his hand, as if his magical core was speaking to that of the wand. The wand seemed to glow in his hand, pulsing gently, like a newly awakened heartbeat. It whispered silent promises into his ear, of magic and adventure and bonds of the likes only seen in Hollywood movies. A shower of sparks burst from the tip of the wand and illuminated the store, giving off a gentle, cheery light.

Ollivander rubbed his chin. "Curious, most curious indeed…"

"Eh?" Alfred asked as he placed the wand back in the box. "What's curious?"

Ollivander turned to look at him, but his silvery eyes seemed to be looking at something far away. "It is an occasion that has only happened a few times in all of wizarding history… you see, back when I plucked the unicorn hair to create this wand, that creature offered me another hair… just one other. These two hairs I took to make two different wands: the one you hold in your hand and one that I sold but one year ago, to a young man who, like you, was about to start his first year at Hogwarts. This boy, you see, holds your wand's brother and, if the lore is to be believed, is tied to you in some way."

"Like… he's my long-lost-brother or something?" Alfred asked, frowning.

Ollivander chuckled. "Yes, yes, perhaps… or it can be of some other fate entirely. The most famous wielders of wands with twin cores were great enemies, who were destined to battle for the fate of the wizarding world. I and many others have studied wand lore for centuries, but even then, we have yet to unravel its greatest mysteries. It may be that the one who shares your wand's brother may grow to be your greatest ally, your most hated enemy, or simply your destined partner for greater things. But if there is one thing clear about wielders of wands with twin cores, it is this: you are destined for great things, Mr. Jones. Your wand chose you because it saw that in your future, just like how its brother chose its wielder because it saw his destiny. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Jones, just as we choose our destinies. Keep that in mind as you grow at Hogwarts and please remember to never stick your wand in your back pocket."

Alfred paid eight galleons for his wand, and turned to go. Just as his hand reached for the door, however, he paused. Turning around, sky blue eyes sought the silvery ones of Ollivander, a question at the tip of his tongue.

"Who did you sell my wand's brother to, Mr. Ollivander?"

The wand maker smiled. "Why would you ever wish to know that, Alfred?"

The American boy shrugged. "Just so I can meet him and say hi. I want us to be friends, not enemies."

Ollivander chuckled. "Well, then I don't have any choice, do I?" he closed his eyes and thought for a brief moment. Alfred, once again feeling quite uncomfortable, fidgeted. For the longest time, Ollivander simply sat there, saying nothing, with only the occasional breath to show Alfred that the old man had not dropped dead just yet. It seemed like an eternity, but Ollivander ddi eventually open his eyes and speak.

"Willow and unicorn hair, ten inches. Quite brittle. That is the wand of Mr. Arthur Kirkland."

* * *

**Some fun facts! **

*** According to JK Rowling herself, she used the Celtic calendar in order to assign wand woods to the three protagonists of Harry Potter. I did the same. The results? America's oak wand corresponds with the dates between the 10th of June and the 7 of July. Arthur's willow wand corresponds to the dates between the 15 of April and the 12 of May.**

*** America shares wand wood with Rubeus Hagrid and Merlin. Oak is a common symbol of strength and endurance and the national tree of numerous countries, most specifically, the United States and England! According to Pottermore, wizards who fit the wand made of English oak are loyal, strong, courageous, faithful to their sexual partner/lover/husband (hint, hint), and are gifted with a powerful trees are also the tree most likely to get struck by lightning, so I guess Alfred will have to watch out when he plays Quidditch! **

*** England shares wand wood with Lily Evans and Ron Weasley. Willows are traditionally associated with ghosts in Asian cultures, whether it is China's keeping ghost away tradition or Japan's attracting ghosts tradition. According to Pottermore, the wizard with the willow wand holds unwanted insecurity within them, but has room for great potential. In English folklore, willows are said to uproot themselves and stalk travelers. What does this mean for our American hero!? O.o **

*** America and England both share cores: unicorn hair. Why? Because unicorn hair is known to bond strongly to its first user. ;)**

*** Pottermore has this to say about Alfred's "slightly springy" wand: A wand with this flexibility may not appear to be very loyal at all because they will initially take to new owners quite well, but the fact of the matter is that they will always have a special tie to their original owner. As time goes on, this wand will become increasingly more troublesome for any owner that isn't its original owner until finally it stops working altogether. This wand is good for crafting spells. Owners matched with this wand may be very cheerful and optimistic, but most of all, they have very big (and possibly overactive) imaginations. Their thought patterns tend to be outside of the box. Hmmmm… ;)**

*** Pottermore has this to say about Arthur's "brittle" wand: A wand with this flexibility tends to attach itself quickest to owners who have insecurities, and its level of loyalty is often dependent on how loyal the owner is to it. Should it become very loyal to its original owner, new owners often won't get the chance to earn the wand's loyalty before it breaks. Brittle wands are best suited to subtle and delicate magic, such as transfiguration and non-verbal spell-casting. Because they break easy, their owners should be careful to avoid magic that is unnecessarily flashy or explosive, especially if the wand also has a dragon heartstring core. Owners with this wand flexibility are usually contemplative, clever, and somewhat cynical; they tend to be an "underdog" type of person and perhaps even a little bit unlucky, which could lead them to becoming resentful of their more successful peers. If a brittle wand owner perseveres and manages to get over their insecurities, however, he or she will often become a "great success story" that never ceases to amaze and inspire others.  
**

*** Wand length is also reflective of a wizard's character. Longer wands mean big personalities with dramatic and spacious styles for casting magic. Neater, medium-sized wands are for those wizards who prefer elegant and refined spell casting. **

*** If Canada were to have a wand, he would definitely have thestral hair as his core. Because thestrals have trouble being seen! **


End file.
